


The Reason for Everything

by Tabithian



Series: Jaybird's Diner [2]
Category: Batman (Comics), DCU, DCU - Comicverse, Nightwing (Comics), Red Robin (Comics), Supernatural, Teen Titans (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Crossover, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-01
Updated: 2013-03-01
Packaged: 2017-12-04 01:20:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/704843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tabithian/pseuds/Tabithian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The people in Tim's life don't really understand his relationship with food.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Reason for Everything

**Author's Note:**

> Companion piece to [The Art of Living](http://archiveofourown.org/works/698248) from Tim's POV.

When he was younger Tim's parents would go on trips leaving him at home with a nanny. Tim's nannies, caretakers, came and went on the whims of his parents. 

He remembers all of them for different things.

Impressions, really, for the earliest of them.

A half-remembered lullaby and the scent of gardenias. The sound of their voice, pitched low and soothing when he was close to falling asleep after a long day, or feverish with some illness. The curve of a smile, the brightness of their laughter. (He remembers the treats they would bring, the small kindnesses they'd share.)

Arriving early in the morning on days his parents would leave for a trip. A smile and mug of hot chocolate for Tim and a bag of donuts. A little island of calm while his parents rushed about, stopping to issue last-minute orders to the nanny and comb their fingers through Tim's hair absently.

Cold pizza in the middle of the night when Tim was woken by nightmares or something else, unable to fall asleep. Wandering towards the kitchen, the only room that ever felt comfortable to find them reading a book or watching an old television show with the sound down low.

And then there were ones that didn't last long at all, who who would lose track of a quiet little boy in such a large home. The ones who forgot he was there.

Rising crime rates motivate his parents to move them out of Gotham proper. Tim spends spend hours exploring his new home. Wandering the rooms, climbing trees outside. 

He gets lost one day, gets turned around in the woods at the edge of their property when the clouds overhead open up. The rain and wind make him miserable, drive him onwards in search of shelter. He remembers his mother telling him who their neighbors were, aware of Tim's hero worship and awe and amused by it.

It's more luck than anything that leads him to the front steps of a large manor, dark and foreboding. Embarrassment and shame weighing his shoulders down as he rings the doorbell, and a crisp British accent.

Gentle hands on his shoulders and kind words urging him along. 

“In here, young sir. You will find everything you need.”

A change of clothes too large for him and clean towels. A shower in a strange place and later, mug of hot chocolate. Kind smile and a shrewd look.

“It's quite late, young sir. I've contacted your caretakers,” a quiet sniff – disapproval? - “And given the hour and weather conditions they've agreed that it would be best if you remained here for the night. They will come for you in the morning.” 

Tim nods, offers up a shy smile and a quiet, “I'm sorry to be such a bother, sir.” 

There's a long silence, and a quiet exhale. A hand on his head, ruffling his hair.

“No trouble at all, young sir. No trouble at all.”

Tim's current caretaker arrives in the morning. Tim gets a cold look and sharp words and, “You mother won't be pleased about this.” 

She isn't, of course. That particular nanny is let go immediately, despite her sputtering protest. The looks she gives to Tim. 

Tim expects lectures on proper behavior and some kind of punishment because he is old enough to know better, but instead he gets questions. 

Careful, uncertain. (His parents feeling their way through this.)

A tired sigh, his mother taking his hands in hers.

“We have negotiations to attend to,” she tells his father, crooked smile on her lips. 

Tim doesn't know the specifics of the arrangement they finally settle on. Just that his parents entrust him with Alfred Pennyworth.

Alfred gives him kind smiles and kinder words. 

Tim keeps close the first few days, hesitantly offering to help. Helping select ripe fruits and vegetables on shopping trips. Helping Alfred in the kitchen and elsewhere around the manor and its grounds, a quiet little shadow.

Bruce is away a great deal of the time for business, like that first night Tim stumbled on the manor in the dark and rain. He doesn't know Tim's a constant guest at the manor for several months.

Not until he wanders into the kitchen early one morning to find Tim seated on a stool carefully chopping vegetables while Alfred stirs a pot on the stove. 

Hard to tell who's more surprised, Bruce or Tim. (Just as difficult to tell who's more uneasy.)

“Ah, Master Bruce,” Alfred says, eyebrow raised at Bruce's rumpled pajamas and messy hair. “So nice to see you awake before noon for once.”

Bruce tears his gaze away from Tim to look at Alfred. (Raised eyebrow, tilt of the head.)

“You know I'm not a morning person,” Bruce says after a moment when Alfred doesn't say anything else.

“Quite,” Alfred says, turning slightly towards Tim, voice lowered. “There has been more than one occasion when I was left no choice but to employ drastic measures to make sure he woke on time.”

Tim bites his lip looking between the two of them. “Really?” he asks doubtfully.

“Indeed,” Alfred says, smacking Bruce's hand away from the plate of cooling bacon with the back of a wooden spoon.

Bruce makes a wounded face and pulls up a stool next to Tim, giving him a stiff smile while Alfred tells Tim of the trials and tribulations of being employed by one Bruce Wayne.

“Lies,” Bruce says, leaning over to whisper where Alfred shouldn’t be able to hear, but does all the same. “Terrible, terrible lies.”

“Really, Master Bruce,” Alfred says with a delicate sniff. “You know I would never tell a lie.”

Even Tim has a hard time keeping a straight face at that.

********

Tim's helping Alfred put the groceries away one day when Dick comes home from college for a visit. 

He's on tiptoe to put something away in the pantry when he gets the feeling of eyes on him, being watched. Freezes for a moment before dropping down and turning to see Dick watching him with this _look_ , on his face.

“Um,” Tim says, his smile closer to a grimace. “Hi.”

Dick's eyebrows go up at that. “Hey,” he says, clearly at a loss.

They stare at one another for several moments, neither one quite knowing what to do, and then Alfred appears. 

“Master Richard, if you would be so kind as to help?” he says pointedly.

Dick starts, flushing at the look Alfred gives him.

“Sure thing, Alfie,” he says, glancing at Tim before heading out to the car.

“Master Timothy,” Alfred says, smiling faintly. “Perhaps you'd care to assist him?”

Tim's shoulders come down at that. “Okay,” he says, and hurries after Dick to help.

Dick starts telling Tim about school and the friends he's made, and Tim slowly, slowly relaxes, shooting Dick and Alfred little looks and shy smiles.

A week later and Dick slings a friendly arm around his shoulders, drawing him along for to watch movies. Tim goes still, eyes wide, and Dick keeps chattering about the movie selection, seemingly oblivious to Tim's reaction.

He always makes a beeline for Tim when he comes home to visit, and over time Tim gets used to the casual touches he doles out like breathing. Fingers brushing his shoulders, a hand ruffling his hair, an arm around Tim's shoulders to pull him into a hug or down for noogie, Dick laughing obnoxiously while Tim struggles to get free.

Dick pulling him close while a movie plays, using Bruce as a footrest and Tim as a living pillow. 

Dick leads to Barbara, and Barbara leads to Cass and Dinah, and so many others. (Family.) 

********

The people in Tim's life don't really understand his relationship with food. 

He's had teachers who thought there was neglect, if not worse, at home when he was younger. They would ask questions, gentle and concerned and Tim didn't understand at first. He'd smile politely and answer their questions, inwardly confused and bewildered.

When he did understand what they were asking, he wasn't sure what to think. Shock, because his parents weren't like the ones he'd see on television, but they weren't bad. He had a roof over his head and clothes on his back. He had food in his stomach and a sense of security he didn't doubt.

He realizes what it was that the teachers had picked up on when Ives teases him about the enthusiasm he greets a bag of donuts with. Bernard raises an eyebrow, slight smile at the corner of his mouth at pizza. (The kitchen at Wayne Manor.)

“I don't get it,” he says when Bernard finds him after another round of questioning. “I have everything I need.” 

Bernard looks at him for a long moment like he hears the lie, and says, “If you say so, Tim.” 

Tim knows what Bernard thinks, what his teachers think.

The thing of it is.

Tim has Alfred and Bruce and Dick. He has Barbara and Cass and Dinah. His parents are making more of an effort to be part of his life now that he's older. He goes with them on trips sometimes, sees the world and tastes food he's never heard of before.

It's not quite the life people seem to think he should have, but it's _his_. (He doesn't think he'll ever be able to get anyone to understand, but that's okay too.)

********

Damian comes along when Tim's looking into colleges and.

It's either perfect timing or terrible timing, Tim's never quite sure which.

Damian is angry and resentful of Tim, someone he views as an outsider to the family who's somehow usurped his role, and Tim. 

Tim's angry too, but Damian's _ten_. (Tim remembers ten, and eleven, and twelve, going all the way up to seventeen.) 

Alfred's the one who suggests that Tim should look at out of state colleges.

“Perhaps it would be for the best,” Alfred says, displeased with the way things have turned out.

Bruce is struggling and Dick is Dick, and Tim. 

“Perhaps,” Tim agrees, and the smile on his face almost feels real.

He ends up going to San Francisco State for reasons beyond him. (There's just something about the campus he can't put into words, something about the city.)

Tim's father insists on pamphlets and brochures about the programs available. His mother gives him a _look_ , eyebrow raised, but says nothing about his choice. (Tim knows she would have preferred he go to more prestigious school, but has learned to let him make his own decisions.)

It's strange being thousands of miles from home like this, lonely. 

One day Alfred sends him an e-mail with a link to a web site, his subtle sense of humor and dry wit evident in the body of the e-mail. 

“Oh my God,” Tim says, laughing as he reads through the posts. “Oh my God.”

It's a subtle reminder from Alfred to look after himself, eating food that doesn't come from a fast food restaurant or the school cafeteria. Something simple, easy, but comforting. (Alfred is the closest to understanding Tim and food, and Tim loves him for that.)

He prints out a recipe and makes it, smiling and laughing to himself, stress of his new life draining forgotten for a little while. 

Things seem easier after that, or maybe it's that he's willing to try. Put in an effort, not hiding away in his dorm or the library.

He meets Conner in his Calculus class looking overwhelmed and quietly offers to help after the first few classes together. 

“Yes, please. That!” Conner says, hands gripping Tim's shoulders. “I don't math!”

Tim snorts, and invites Conner back to his dorm to go over class notes. He makes them something to eat while lightly quizzing Conner on what they've gone over in class to date.

“Ugh,” Conner says, squinting at Tim. “I can't decide if you helping me is better or worse.”

“Thanks,” Tim says dryly.

Conner huffs, gently kicking Tim's leg. “You know what I mean.”

Bart literally runs into him when he's crossing a courtyard headed to an afternoon class, gangly limbs and out of control hair and frantic apologies.

“Sorrysorrysorry,” Bart says, helping Tim pick up his things. “I was in a rush and didn't see you and I'm _so_ sorry.”

Tim blinks at him, at a loss for words.

“Um,” Bart shoves Tim's history textbook at him. “Are you mad at me?”

Tim can't help the smile at the worried look on Bart's face.

“No,” he says. 

Bart looks _young_ in a way Tim's never really seen. (But then again, he grew up in Gotham and the surrounding area.)

“Oh thank God,” Bart says, grinning at him. “I keep doing stupid stuff like this, and it's not like I _mean_ to, you know? I just.” Bart shrugs helplessly. “You know.”

Tim's not really sure he does, but. “It's fine,” he says. "Really.”

Bart joins the study sessions along with Cassie and others more for the company than any real need to study. Tim doesn't feel so alone anymore. (He likes to think they don't either.)

Dick comes to visit as often as he can, dragging Bruce and Damian with him when he can get away with it. Alfred supposedly comes along to make sure they behave themselves, but the way he fusses over Tim gives him away.

Bruce pretends to be annoyed with Dick and his special kind of bullying, but Tim knows him too well for that. (He visits, but not enough, and Dick and Alfred do what they can to fix that.)

Damian scowls and grumbles, words sharp and bladed, but there's curiosity there too. Vulnerability he's fighting hard not to show, and Tim remembers _that_ too.

Alfred clucks and shakes his head and kicks the three of them out of Tim’s dorm while he cleans and stocks the little fridge, muttering darkly to himself all the while.

Tim takes them on a tour of the campus or the city, and when they get back Tim's dorm room is virtually sparkling and Alfred looks to be pleased with the state of things.

Wayne Enterprises business keeps Cass in Hong Kong most of the time, but she manages to stop by for a visit several times over the course of the year.

His parents' visits are even rarer than Cass', but they make an effort and Tim appreciates that almost as much as the way his mother terrorizes Conner and Bart. (She's fond of them, but Tim got his mischievous streak from her, and it shows.)

Barbara's responsible for setting Dick's computer up for Skype. They talk at least once a week. It's not unusual for him to pull Bruce or Damian or whoever happens to be around him at the time into them. Bruce scowling at Dick even as he talks to Tim. Damian growling and spitting like a small, angry kitten while Dick holds onto him, using moves Tim remembers when he was that age. Alfred sending Dick a reproving look, smiling warmly at Tim.

Tim's pleasantly surprised – and wary – when Damian Skypes him on his own initiative shortly before Dick's birthday looking for gift ideas. Tim feels something shift then, in the way Damian doesn't quite look at him, uncertainty in the line of his shoulders and set of his jaw.

After that they talk once or twice a month, usually when Damian's frustrated with Dick and his overall _Dickness_ , or something Bruce has done. Tim doesn't know what it says about him that he finds it sweet that Damian has a tendency to collect strays, not unlike his father.

********

Tim's sophomore year of college he gets an off-campus apartment with Conner and Bart and turns to _Manly Cooking_ for ideas when Conner and the others get bored of ramen. He uses it to teach them to make things to eat with what they might have on hand. (Or can scavenge easily enough.)

He'd hesitate to call it a lifeline, but.

It's funny and helpful. Most of all, though, there's _Jason_.

Dean's amusing in his own right, as are Steph and Cullen when they take over the blog with their own recipes. Filling in for Jason when he's sick and posting photos of Jason and the others, the diner. 

Family, Tim realizes, like Alfred and Dick. Bruce and even Damian. Cass. Barbara. (Conner and the others.)

Around that time Tim's forced to get glasses, vision fuzzy and out of focus enough that he can't ignore it anymore.

“Dude,” Conner says, when he finds out. “Glasses are awesome, I don't know what your problem is.”

Tim fidgets with the earpiece of his new glasses. He _knows_ that, it's just. No one cares that Conner wears glasses, but Tim's. _Tim_.

“I feel stupid,” he says, putting his glasses on. “Like I'm trying to protect my secret identity.”

Conner chucks a pillow at him, hitting him in the stomach. 

“Please,” he says. “Like that would ever work.”

He has a point, Tim thinks, straightening up, pillow clutched in one hand. 

Still.

“Ow!” Conner yells, when Tim whips the pillow back at him. “Jesus, Tim!”

Tim grins, reaching for another pillow. “Hey,” he says mildly. “You started it.” 

******** 

Tim knows he spends far too much time online, usually in the forums on the _Manly Cooking_ website. He ignores the looks Conner and Bart get when Tim makes frustrated noises because someone's being stupid on the internet, knows he's far too invested. 

Conner rolls his eyes when Tim and Jason start instant messaging one another, the soft pings and dings throwing him out of his video game groove.

“Dude,” Conner tells him one day. “That place is in Gotham, right? Next time you go home, just go there. Meet the guy.”

Tim would, but. 

“Seriously?” Conner says, twisting around to look at him because he knows Tim a little too well. “Seriously.”

“Bart,” Tim calls, looking over to where Bart's trying to collect them all on his DS.

Bart pauses his game and raises his eyebrows. 

“Get him,” Tim says, pointing at Conner.

“Oh, dude, _low_ ,” Conner yells, dropping his game controller. 

Bart's faster than either of them, and wiry. When he gets hold of someone, they aren't getting free without a fight.

“Yeah,” Tim says, steepling his fingers like a Bond villain. “Not sorry.”

Bart carefully sets his DS down where it will be out of the fray and launches himself at Conner with a battle cry.

********

The thing is, Conner's not wrong. (He's also a giant tattletale.)

“Tim, I'm pretty sure these guys are psychopaths,” Dick says, skimming through the site. “Just saying.”

Tim rolls his eyes. “Psychopaths who know their food, Dick,” he says.

Dick just _looks_ at him.

Tim's home for the summer, and Dick came to see Tim after getting a “troubling phone call” from Conner. 

“Is this the website Alfred sent Bruce to when he left last week?”

Bruce is Bruce, and sometimes gets to be unbearable to the point that even Alfred needs time away.

“Um.” Tim scratches the back of his head. “Yes?”

Dick looks back at the laptop screen, one of Jason's recipes pulled up.

“Tim,” Dick says, fighting a smile. “You know Bruce is sensitive. A delicate flower, even.”

Tim knows, he does. He remembers the utterly bewildered look on Bruce's face when confronted with _Manly Cooking_ in all its glory.

“I still have video if you want to see it?” Tim offers. Alfred had requested several copies.

“Hold on a second,” Dick says, typing something.“This is too great not to share.”

Tim winces when he sees the Youtube logo load.

********

This is probably a mistake, but.

Tim's headed back to San Francisco in few weeks and the tone of the conversations he's had with Jason have shifted away from responsible consumerism over the last few months. Tim wants to know if there's something there, or if it's all in his head. 

He looks up at the sign he's seen in countless photos and videos. Jaybird's Diner seems to be quiet now, afternoon lunch rush over. There are only a few cars parked along the street in front of it, and Tim.

He takes a deep breath and walks forward. The bell over the door jingles merrily, catching the attention of the people inside.

A pretty blonde in an apron wiping down tables and someone Tim's age ducking into the kitchen with dirty dishes. (Steph, Tim realizes from the photos, and Cullen.)

“Can I help you?” Steph asks with a friendly smile.

Tim can't help but smile back.

“I, uh,” he laughs, sheepish. “I was wondering if Jason's here?”

Steph's eyes narrow slightly as she looks him over. “Mind if I ask why?” 

Tim shrugs. “I've talked to him online,” he says, wincing at the way it sounds. “He told me to come by if I was in town, so.”

Steph moves closer, head cocked to the side. “Drake03?” she asks.

“Tim, actually,” Tim says.

He should probably be surprised that she knows about him, but. There's the matter of Dean pretending to be Jason. 

Steph holds up a finger. “Wait here, please,” she says, and all but runs into the kitchen.

Tim looks around at the diner and tries to pretend he can't hear Steph talking – arguing – furiously with someone.

“Hey.”

Tim turns around to see Cullen standing there with a mug of coffee. “They're going to be a while,” he says with an apologetic shrug. “On the house.”

Tim smiles, thanking him as he accepts the coffee and picks out a booth at the front of the diner. Cullen ducks back into the kitchen and Tim smiles as he hears his voice join the others.

He sits and drinks his coffee, watching people pass by outside. 

Cullen's cleared his coffee away and given him time to look the menu over when the sudden sound of the door opening grabs his attention.

It's _Jason_.

Tim would know him anywhere, courtesy of the _Manly Cooking_ blog and the website for Jaybird's Diner.

“Jason, hey,” Dean says, darting out of the kitchen to intercept Jason as he looks around the diner. 

“Winchester,” Jason growls.

“For the record?" Dean says, holding his hands up placatingly. “I had nothing to do with this.” 

Tim rolls his eyes at that, and laughs quietly to himself at the look Jason gives Dean.

He smiles hesitantly when Dean points him out, wishing he'd never done this, given in to a spur of the moment impulse.

And then Jason walks over, looking. _Nervous_ , of all things.

“Uh, hey,” Jason says. “How are things going?”

Tim smiles, says, “Hi,” and has to push his glasses up when they slide down. “I hope I'm not being too forward.”

Jason stares at him blankly. “I'm sorry?”

Tim can hear how nervous he sounds when he laughs. “I'm your internet buddy,” he says. He knows it was Dean pretending to be Jason, but. He doesn't know what else to say. “Drake03?” He makes a face at that, and smiles. “My name's Tim.”

He can _see_ Jason putting things together in his head.

“Excuse me for a moment Tim,” Jason says. “I have to go kill someone.”

“All right,” Tim says. He's reasonably sure Jason's joking. But in case he's not - 

“You should know it wasn't him, by the way,” Tim says, feeling a smile forming. “I know when he's pretending to be you.”

“Yeah?” Jason asks.

“I've been meaning to come here for a while,” Tim says, looking down at his hands. “I just thought, you know. Why not?”

Jason doesn't say anything long enough that Tim doesn't look up, not ready to face the rejection he knows has to be coming. He worries the edge of the menu, lamination falling apart. 

There's a quiet sigh above him, and then Jason sits down on the other side of the booth and tugs the menu away from Tim. Tim bites his lip, waiting a moment before looking up at him.

Jason smiles at him, a little wryly. “Coffee?” he asks.

Tim.

Tim _smiles_ , a quiet, shy thing. 

“Sure,” he says. And then because conversations – debates – like this is what started this whatever it is between them, “Fair trade?”

Jason looks surprised at the laugh that breaks free, leaning forward with a smile on his face. “Are we really going to do this now?” he asks, but he sounds fond, amused. 

Tim grins at him, relief and something else behind it. “I don't know what you're talking about,” he says. 

“Right," Jason says. "Like I believe that.”

Tim ducks his head again, smiling hard thinking that maybe coming here wasn't the mistake he thought it was after all.


End file.
